Dried Wax
The flame's aglow; the wick will burn
Light warms the room so one will turn
Toward the blaze that shines so bright
It calms the soul this torrid night
You gaze upon the dancing flame
But what you don't know is quite a shame
For what lights the flame that heats the air
Lies underneath that flickering flare
The fire shall burn, there is no doubt
But what is left when that flame is out?
No longer, then, shall the light persist
And the ignored dried wax shall still exist
Edited with help from Michael Jones
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